IF WE CANNOT HEAR GOD, DO WE BLAME HIM? Orual declares, “The gods never send us this invitation to delight so readily or so strongly as when they are preparing some new agony. We are their bubbles; they blow us big before they prick us.” This same fatalism is echoed in James 1:13-15 (ESV): Let no one say when he is tempted, “I am being tempted by God,” for God cannot be tempted with evil, and he himself tempts no one. But each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death.
Not one of us is helped by blaming God. Orual’s domineering selfishness is key, and Ansit seems to be the only one to recognize it fully: “You’re full fed. Gorged with other men’s lives, women’s too: Bardia’s, mine, the Fox’s, your sister’s—both your sisters.’” Orual is angered and repulsed by this, but she can see it is true. Whether her obsessive love for Psyche or her controlling love for Bardia, Orual’s idea of love is wholly tainted. It brings death to all.
And so, how can we like a character who has damaged so many, including herself? This is the distinctive point of Lewis’s tale. We don’t have to like Orual or agree with her or even hope for her, but we do need to see ourselves in her. If we read this myth as story only, then we have lost its moral lesson and the pending redemption.
At the end of her reign, Orual finally realizes the futility of hiding from herself, “I did and I did and I did, and what does it matter that I did?” She simply has no concept of what trust nor rest is. She has struggled with this from the beginning. Just as Psyche exemplifies complete, even perfect faith, Orual cannot trust. On her first visit to the mountain, Orual declares she almost came to a full belief. The almost is conscious doubt. She knows Psyche is certain, and she knows she, Orual, is not. It is a sickening feeling, and Orual is filled with both horror and grief at the gulf between them, immediately blaming the gods, instead of herself. She cannot see that she has in fact made a choice to doubt.
Moreover, when Orual returns to the mountain the second time determined to forcibly remove Psyche, she cannot see Psyche’s perspective nor can she truly see Psyche’s joy. Though Orual is certain she is right, she is blind. I John 2:8-11 says this is because the darkness is passing away and the true light is already shining. Whoever says he is in the light and hates his brother is still in darkness. Whoever loves his brother abides in the light, and in him there is no cause for stumbling. But whoever hates his brother is in the darkness and walks in the darkness, and does not know where he is going, because the darkness has blinded his eyes. Here, John reveals what Orual cannot know of herself yet—that she “hates” Psyche. This hatred incites her blindness, and by novel’s end, Orual herself confesses to Psyche that she has always been a “craver,” loving her only “selflessly.
COMING TO CHRIST IS NO PANACEA, but if C.S. Lewis were to tell us a tale of how pain and doubt were inevitable and unavoidable in a life of belief in God, who would willingly listen? It’s one thing to share personal experience or to preach a lesson, but in fiction, an author and his audience might just be left with a moralizing and probably unlikeable character instead.
Most fiction features at least one appealing character—the one you cheer for, stumble with, return to. Therein lies one of the trickiest elements in Till We Have Faces. Perhaps one of the most exasperating characters of all of Lewis’s novels, Orual is an unlikely blend for a central character. At the beginning of the tale, she is practically an orphaned girl without love or looks, and so we naturally pity her. By the time Psyche is born, it seems that Orual now has a purpose in life. In spite of her abusive father, she can now care for Psyche and be loved in return by Psyche and the Fox. Yet that same thing that brings joy to Orual also brings the most pain, and we begin to dislike Orual as she denies the truth of Psyche’s sincere faith and even the god who revealed himself to her. Orual’s long-term obstinacy, even her manipulation, is offensive to us. We are frustrated by her resistance.
But there are moments of hope. When she ascends the mountain with Bardia, her heart delights in the beauty that surrounds her. In spite of the errand of grief, her heart is responsive. This is not just a sensitivity to nature, but a means by which God can speak to her. As her audience, we too hope that she might know God. Hope might also spur her to pray and ask the gods for their help after her first visit to the Grey Mountain.
Doubt is a harsh teacher, and it’s probably because it stems from our own selfishness.
Yet Orual hears and feels nothing after hours of prayer. When we look at her in those moments, we can see that she is likely manipulating her religion. Orual wants things her own way because she only understands how to do things, to make things happen, in order to get something else. Her prayers are based on herself, not a sincere relationship with God. She selfishly demands an answer, and it must come in the way she chooses.
Orual’s wrestling is paralleled in James 1:6-8 (ESV): But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind. For that person must not suppose that he will receive anything from the Lord; he is a double-minded man, unstable in all his ways. Doubt is a harsh teacher, and it’s probably because it stems from our own selfishness. With doubt in the way, Orual cannot see or hear the gods.
CELEBRATE ALL FOUR SEASONS with memoir, poetry, and short stories
In the vein of Thoreau and Walden Pond, William Paul Winchester recounts his life on twenty acres in rural Oklahoma as simple and poetic. Nothing is diminutive. Embrace each blade of grass, the cow Isabel, the harvester ant, the sycamore, and the relics of the Dutchman's property.
As he labored to build a house on a century-old foundation and strove to live off of the land, Winchester fully details the intricacy of each season with simplicity. Consider a summer scene—“Lightning bugs and glow worms, their bioluminescence dependent on phosphorus, were drawn to my twenty acres in such numbers that walking out on a still summer evening is like passing through the center of a meteor shower.”
Winchester's memoir is just as much a commentary on contentment as it is a call to perspective. He writes, “To live in the country in a house I built for myself, with meaningful work and a margin of leisure, free to create a little universe of my own making—this was my idea of happiness.”
You don’t have to be a Transcendentalist to enjoy Emerson’s delightful observations of “Earth-song.” Choose a season, and Emerson will regale you. From the “burling, dozing humble-bee” to his odes on Nature, his rambles and travels through the seasons are equally detailed in appreciation:
Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
I leave you with the words of our final author, Washington Irving, and his commentary on the passing of seasons in “Christmas” from his Sketchbook--
We derive a great portion of our pleasures from the mere beauties of Nature. Our feelings sally forth and dissipate themselves over the sunny landscape, and we ‘live abroad and everywhere.’ The song of the bird, the murmur of the stream, the breathing fragrance of spring, the soft voluptuousness of summer, the golden pomp of autumn; earth with its mantle of refreshing green, and heaven with its deep delicious blue and its cloudy magnificence, all fill us with mute but exquisite delight . . . But in the depth of winter, when Nature lies despoiled of every charm, and wrapped in her shroud of sheeted snow, we turn our gratifications to moral sources.”
Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies
Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Like wither'd leaves to quicken a new birth!
And, by the incantation of this verse,
Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth
The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
In Percy Bysshe Shelley’s “Ode to the West Wind,” the wind of autumn is no longer accused of bringing a permanent death. Winter is not an evil. Yes, the seeds that the wind blows will die and be buried for but a season because the warm spring wind will certainly return to bring life.
As much as I thrill to the autumn Keats describes in “To Autumn,” I find a deeper, more intense awareness in Shelley’s poem. Both poems are personal, yet Shelley’s feels like a prayer by the fifth and final stanza.
With great earnestness, he asks the wind to play upon him, that he would be the harp just like the trees of the forest are strings for the wind to play upon. Shelley’s plea extends to his heart. Would that the wind could drive his dead thoughts away like nature’s seeds and bring those dead words to life. He commands the wind to do so, to scatter his words across the earth. I know, I know. Shelley may have been prompted by thoughts of glory and fame, but what if the spiritual parallel goes further?
What if Shelley knew of David’s words in Psalm 49:4-5?
My mouth is about to speak wisdom; my heart’s deepest thoughts will give understanding. I will listen with care to God’s parable. I will set his riddle to the music of the lyre.
How unique that Shelley’s earnest determination parallels David’s. A similar passion drives them as both desire to make a mystery known through lyric.
Their expressions continue to resonate with me, and my hope remains—that I too can echo Shelley’s words in prayer, “Make me thy lyre.”
IF EVER I WANTED to step into a landscape to walk with a poet, I would eagerly join John Keats . . . lush bounty, harvest color, the promise of abundant provision. As a season, autumn is not a sign that winter death is near. It is a confirmation of the blessing of a season, the full-bodied experience of an autumn landscape. John Keats’ praise of autumn is one of his finest romantic creations, and one of his last.
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
This—this is a rich land of milk and honey and sweet words. Keats’ descriptions are magical personification. Autumn is both friend and co-conspirator with the sun. They work together to ripen the final harvest of apples, gourds, nuts, and honey.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Autumn is a wisp of a woman waiting in her storehouse. The winnowing wind is the faint trace of her hair in the breeze. Then for a moment she drowses outside in the field, perhaps overcome by the heady scent, causing the harvesters to leave a swath of wheat and flowers behind because they are beautiful. And finally, with a heavy head from a full day she watches the cider presses do their work, a sign of her bounty as well.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Autumn has her own song of color and life and sound. She cannot be compared to her sister Spring, and yet their songs are similar. Listen to the sad hum of gnat clouds, the bleat of lambs, the song of crickets, the robin, the swallow.
Autumn is romanticized, but the beauty of every sense is brought to life with an attitude of gratefulness, a recognition that autumn brings life too.
“I fancy I have never written a book in which I did not quote from him. But it has not seemed to me that those who have received my books kindly take even now sufficient notice of the affiliation. Honesty drives me to emphasize it.”—C.S. Lewis
I can’t explain it as well as I’d like, but there’s something to George MacDonald’s preachy style. As a teenager, I read voraciously and whipped through a number of his romances such as The Seaboard Parish (1869) and The Fisherman’s Lady (1875). In each story, a prominent character is in need of a rescue, and in a predictable pattern, MacDonald provided a devout Christian who could guide and lead the needy to Christ. Simple conflicts, happy endings, nice and neat.
Yet these are only one type of novel he wrote. The fairy and fable of his early years feature deeper, even darker thoughts. Consider Phantastes (1858). Here, young Anodos, meaning pathless in Greek, discovers an atypical fairy world, a place of goodness and darkness. The inexperienced Anodos doesn’t always know who to believe among the world of fairies, trees, and creatures, and most alarmingly, he unearths his own shadow, a being that is himself and yet wholly evil. After many adventures by fable’s end, Anodos reawakens in the real world and finds he has been asleep for twenty-one days. This type of fantasy along with MacDonald’s children’s stories and poems is only one small part of his writings though. Having been a Congregational minister for a time, MacDonald can’t seem to keep himself from sermonizing, let alone moralizing, in his stories.
So recently I picked up a piece of his I hadn’t read before, Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood (1866). Our story begins with the honest and friendly greeting of Harry Walton, a new vicar in a rural parish harmlessly called Marshmallows. The story is replete with stereotypical characters such as the rich old widow manipulating others through her position, the old geezer working the local grain mill, the young working-class couple separated by a gruff father, and so on.
What’s unique is MacDonald’s perspective. Young Walton is ever the narrator and describes what he sees: “Why did I not use to see such people about me before?” He recognizes that he is learning to truly see each parishioner as they are, and his ideals are clear. He is driven (or is it inspired?) to make God real to the people in his charge:
a man must be partaker of the Divine nature; that for a man’s work to be done thoroughly, God must come and do it first himself; that to help men, He must be what He is—man in God, God in man—visibly before their eyes, or to the hearing of their ears. So much I saw.
Through Walton’s eyes and ears, we see his encounters and hear his sermons. We see his sincere desires and his need to bring people together, even if he must solve the mysteries of people themselves. He is a winning protagonist, even if pedantic in times.
Personally, I enjoyed hearing the voices of the Victorian age, whether the Spenserian carols at the vicar’s Christmas party or the pulpit pounders straight from MacDonald himself. Unlike other MacDonald novels, Scottish brogue and dialect are hugely absent since our narrator is a cultured man, all the easier for his audience to enjoy the style and theology that is MacDonald’s.
Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood is available in several volumes now as a reprint or digitized for public use at projectgutenberg.com. The Wade Center at Wheaton College and the George MacDonald Society websites provide a delightful array of resources and texts. Librivox also features 19 hours of MacDonald’s Unspoken Sermons.
Dictionary and thesaurus apps. Etymology and word roots. Language study and interlinear Bibles.
Writing tools in this century are at our fingertips. Yet as I work on my first novel, the most unusual resource has resurfaced—a 1929 Hartrampf’s Vocabulary Builder. I call it my fat word builder.
I admit it’s been abandoned for a while on our bookshelves, possibly for ten years, but now—now it’s a rarefied gem in my eyes. Yes, it’s a single book. No, it is not digitized, but there are many newer editions.
Its genius resides in the collection of associated meanings, not just straight synonyms.
Let me give you an example from my summer editing work. In my novel's first draft, I have definitely overused certain words like come, wind, were, and a most heinous repetitive phrase--began to. Apparently my heroine Carina likes to begin things. She began to sit or stand. She began to crouch. She began to laugh. Goodness. I promise she finishes things. Really.
Now for the edits with Hartrampf's help. I look up the word "begin" in the back index. I'm delighted to find an entire page devoted to its use. The top of this page says to see other possible connections for "start" or "commencement." A handy list with additional pages is right there: birthplace, excite—rouse, change, opening—foreword, musical beginnings, time preceding, or cause. Which kind of "begin" do I want? I could flip to any of those or look below at the parts of speech:
And this is just one-eighth of the page. The word wonder continues with many family and neighbor words for "begin." For my character, though, I found that many times she was not truly beginning something. Instead of "With knife in hand, Carina began to crouch . . ." I realized she wasn't beginning anything. "With knife in hand, Carina crouched . . ." was more accurate and less wordy. Of course, I could have said, "She prepared herself." In reality "crouched" became the best fat word. Yes, fat. These words contain action and image and power.
As a writer, I can say in all sincerity that I have finally found a happy and pleasant use for the word fat.
Jane Eyre is a perennial novel for me. Yes, I teach it every year, but more importantly, I reread it every time. Not just a skim. A full read. And this is why.
I SERIOUSLY NEED TO WRITE this cautionary book for secondary teachers. Teaching is really not for everyone, though I still hear stories about how someone just fell into it as a backup job. Sometimes they are a natural, and you hear, "Oh my goodness, I am called to this!" Good for them, but that is not normal by any means. And it’s not that teaching requires a certain personality. Any type of personality can fit, but I do think flexible cholerics have an advantage.
1. Teachers may fail because they didn’t quite understand one word--preparation. This is before employment. This goes back to college coursework. In the good ol’ days, an education degree was required in most states. Drama education, Math education, English education. These were actual degree names. They are rarities now. In my own state, all you need to do is pass one general and one specific certification test and you can teach grades 6 through 12. Just like that. No training. No coursework. No student teaching. I suppose that a number of states were trying to entice retirees or other job lookers. Unfortunately they just hired inexperienced people (can we call them teachers?) who quickly quit.
Here’s why the college coursework is part of that preparation. I had classes in understanding the statistics of test scores and what they really tell us, I had a course in creating every type of visual aid on the cheap in addition to tech training, and most importantly, I had an entire semester class on the ever practical classroom management. This was nuts and bolts. This was the class that covered so many realistic scenarios that I really was prepared to teach 17 year olds when I was 21. You can’t tell me that a few exams will do that. And for the private schools who don’t require teaching degrees, certification, or even experience, good luck! I’m sure those newbies were great in their interviews. They probably shared inspiring tales of how one key professor truly showed them how great teaching could be, as if watching a salesman charm a customer makes me a fabulous salesman.
If you fall into this scenario, then I only have one piece of advice. Before you are literally responsible for a group of little humans, you owe it to them to know what you are getting into. It doesn’t matter if you need college credit. You need life experience. Call a few public or private schools and ask to observe one of their master teachers in the subject you want to teach. Maybe they have to vet you. Maybe they meet with you in person in an interview of sorts, but arrange to go for as many weeks as they will allow and absorb how it’s done. Imitation of good practices goes a long way.
2. Once hired and in the trenches, teachers also fail when they don’t understand that preparation is daily. It requires dedicated time. You do read, study, practice, and prepare before you teach anything. The first few years of teaching a subject well require serious time. If you wing it, you usually fail. If you have no idea where you want a class discussion to go because you didn’t do the reading homework you assigned to your own students, then don’t be surprised at their confusion. How can you lead well, if you have no aim? Actually, that may be part of the problem. A good number of average teachers have succumbed to the malaise of biding their time until they hit twenty years and retire. Their aim is no longer about learning or about the lives they influence.
How can you lead well if you have no aim?
3. Teachers may also fail if they don’t understand the reality of living, breathing, and teaching for an entire school year. In the real world as opposed to the school world, you have good days, bad ones, and meh ones. The same goes for a school year. Even when you are prepared, even when students do the homework, even when you’ve managed your class setting well, your day can be blah. You can even have weeks of blah. Yes, weeks! Or the one thing you can’t predict—one class will interact with you in a phenomenal manner and all the others are a major disappointment. The point is that it’s not you. Well, not usually. Even if you thought you were inspiring, sometimes human beings are unpredictable. It happens. Know that it happens. A realistic viewpoint helps.
4. In the same vein, teachers also fail when they are judged by their performance. First year evaluations in a public or private school can be intense. Surprise class observations. All kinds of advice. Some helpful bits thrown in with some harsh ones. But this is a broken system to me. These are snapshots of you, just 30 to 45 minutes of your teaching LIFE once a month, if that. If any administrator were to observe you five days in a row, then and only then, would they have a realistic picture of who you were as a teacher working with children. I can’t change that system, but I will tell you what many public and private school veterans would advise--
Forget acting like this is a normal class period. Do not go on as if this is a typical day. Instead, by the seat of your pants, pull out all the stops. This is an audition. Teach to impress the students and the administrator. Quote the best material. Ask the best questions you can. Roam around the room and interact more than ever. This should be a damn fine performance!”
I know. It sounds overdramatic, but until I learned this fact of life, my evaluations were lower than those who practiced this. Really. Thank God I had a tremendous veteran teacher mentor me my first year. And trust me, it is true for both public and private schools.
(I do know teacher performance is also judged by student performance. But testing, its practice, its ideals, would require more space.)
5. The most significant reason teachers fail is because they are unable to manage students well. If you can’t control them, you can’t teach them. It does sound awful, but it’s true. That word control sounds like utter manipulation. And it is. If you manage your students’ behavior well, then you are manipulating them. Manipulate does mean “to handle skillfully.” You are hopefully creating an environment where you keep negative or interfering behaviors in check at the same time that you teach and interact. You are respectful and respected. You inspire and create interest, ALL as you teach. This is skill. This requires experience.
Some teachers fail regularly at this because they just aren’t good at predicting human behavior. Sometimes they are just too hopeful that students might choose well regarding their own behavior (Hint: Assume they won’t choose well). And sometimes, teachers really don’t know what they’re doing. They might suppose they are instructing little adults, and that is a serious mistake.
How to help? If a new teacher lacks experience, we must require more. That is the formula. They must observe others who do it well. That does not mean becoming exactly like another personality. You still have to be yourself and acquire these skills to suit your personality. At the same time, you must have a mentor teacher in the same building and subjects as you. If it’s not required and one is not assigned to you, humble yourself and ask around. I think mentors should be assigned for the first three years, not just the first. If you ever think you are done learning from someone, that they have taught you everything you could ever need, then you will fail. Working side by side for several years is invaluable experience.
What do you think? As parents, educators, students, we have been part of every type of classroom. What works? What advice would you offer?
IN THE MIDST OF MY WRITING FLURRY this summer, I was able to read more than I thought. Skim through for a range from historical to Victorian to fantasy.
The Flight of the Sparrow by Amy Belding Brown
Brown conveys the brutal legalism of religion alongside the harsh adaptation to native life in the Massachusetts Bay Colony in the late 1600s, and though I don’t agree with every description of Native Americans or the colonists, I do appreciate Brown’s ability to place us, the readers, in the midst of Rowlandson’s story. It is a fiction after all. The historical element carries such weight to the harrowing journey of Mary White Rowlandson that I could not easily put this down. Did Rowlandson really think all of English life was repressive and likely worthless? Did she, a woman, speak out about the sin of slavery in a male-controlled society? It’s possible, but we will never really know. Rowlandson’s Native friend James the Printer expresses best that "We must learn new truths or die,” and I agree. Without having read this accounting, I would not have reconsidered the “truths” of the historical accounts from this era in the early colonies.
The Wild Muir: Twenty-Two of John Muir’s Greatest Adventures
This was a new collection for me, and frankly, it caught my eye because of the word “adventure.” I delight in Muir’s grandiose poetical landscapes, but this collation is all about those near-misses. Bears, glaciers, rock climbing, avalanches, wild weather. Think Muir v. Wild. It might be limited in scope by design, but this grouping is a great introduction for new Muir readers.
Agnes Grey by Anne Bronte
In a straightforward autobiographical style, the youngest Bronte writes of the lonely yoke of being a governess working among a bad breed of families who refuse to discipline their children or establish moral thought. Comforts are few, but our central character Agnes encourages herself and her readers: "I determined always strictly to fulfill the threats and promises I made; and, to that end, I must be cautious to threaten or promise nothing that I could not perform." She speaks of that determination, even in the midst of multiple failures, as "unshaken firmness, devoted diligence, unwearied perseverance, unceasing care."
The novel is surprising in that it most boldly criticizes the aristocracy and gentry. "But some people think rank and wealth the chief good; and, if they can secure that for their children, they think they have done their duty." The final third contrasts from the darker and somewhat preachy beginning in a most hopeful way. No spoilers here.
The Last Good Day by Robert Kugler
I would consider this a research read for me because I am writing a young adult novel and want to be more than just familiar with popular writing. With that said, if you enjoy Nicholas Sparks, you'll like Kugler's YA debut. Young love, deep thoughts, friendship, talent, humor in batches. Though I've never been to Jersey or Wildwood, I delighted in walking the streets, the beach, the clubs, goodness, even the Christmas shop, with Angela and Avery.
The Wounded Shadow by Patrick W. Carr
It so happens that the novel I’m writing is considered fantasy, so what better way to inspire myself than to read a Christian fantasy author I admire? The entire Dark Shadow series was thoughtful and action-filled, a rare combination. The war of good versus evil was never plain or simplistic but as intricate as the world Carr built so effectively. To maintain this world and each character's development requires so much as a writer. I am in awe. What an amazing ending to the stories of so many characters. I especially want to meet Custos some day!
. . . more books and poetry to follow next week.